


I Know What Monsters Are

by charlotteof_denmark



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dark Abigail, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Tragic Romance, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2058498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotteof_denmark/pseuds/charlotteof_denmark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail Hobbs and Hannibal Lecter start an interesting relationship. He needs to trust her. And now she knows that she can trust him, entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flaws

Hannibal had chosen her over everyone else. No one measured up to her. He found her one day splayed on a kitchen floor in a puddle of her own blood, her neck slashed open. She didn’t look at him, she didn’t see him at first but he did, he saw her and knew that she would be special. And she was. Her mind was witty and quick, her being a survivor, merely a victim made him so intrigued with her. He usually disliked young people. Those of this century were rather vacant and uninterested in important things. Abigail was an ethereal beauty inside and out. But it didn’t change the fact that Hannibal was a manipulative person with killing urges.

So was Abigail.

They had no secrets. Abigail was too smart to let him lie to her. And he the same. Hannibal was a monster that had been destroyed and rebuilt. He needed to do the same with Abigail.

‘Ugh!’ she sighed. ‘I am so tired of this.’

She arrived at his house--not his office, on a monday morning, her hair down as always but a little bit shorter.

‘Did you cut you hair?’ he asked, curiously, taking her coat.

‘Yeah... I can’t deal with Alana or the group therapies anymore.’

‘It looks nice.’ she walked past him and slumped on his couch.

Throwing her hands in the air, she said, ‘It doesn’t matter! I cut my hair, let’s not dwell on it.’

He nodded to himself and hung her coat. PTSD teenager. Right. ‘Tell me about Alana then.’

‘She is so nice and kind and lovely and beautiful and caring and happy and perfect,’ she explained.

Hannibal sat on the armchair next to her. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘I can’t tell her about stuff.’

He waited.

‘Hm... I...’

There was a long pause. He internally criticized her mannerisms, not in a bad or good way, just neutral criticism. He noticed she was wearing a bit of makeup, nail polish (dark purple) and her hair was in a better state than usual. Maybe this was part of her recovery, becoming normal again. She was shaky today. There was something she wasn’t telling him.

‘I just would like to be able to tell Alana what I tell you about.’

He looked at her in the eye. ‘Can we trust each other, Abigail?’

She looked behind him, at the wall. Her gaze was almost always flickering, like Will’s. ‘Yeah, we can.’

Later on, they cooked a little bit for lunch, he taught her basic methods of cutting and slicing, and he noticed that she was very squeamish about getting food or liquid on her. He did not pity her. Not that she wasn’t deserving of his pity, but he had none, not for anyone. Hannibal felt so drawn to her in a strange and disturbing way. He wanted her to open up to him, for her to tell him everything. It wasn’t even about love, just fascination. He’d never really been close to a very young adult. Only people his age, and when he was younger... well, there had been his uncle and his aunt Murasaki. Hannibal made her cut small pieces of meat, a census taker. Maybe Abigail knew. He couldn’t read her. Not right now.

Alana did not know anything about them seeing each other out of the hospital. There was just one time when Hannibal gave Abigail the mushrooms. That was a long time ago. She’d just turned 18. She had cried on his chest once. Hugged him twice. Called him Hannibal accidentally three times, always apologizing.

Abigail kept a healthy distance away from Hannibal. The truth was that she wanted nothing more than to tell him everything and be close, so close. She was probably more drawn to him than he to her.

Later that evening she called Alana from her room in the psychiatric facility.

‘Are you alright Abigail?’

Alana was expecting an anxiety attack, a nightmare, something horrible.

‘I think I’ve been here long enough. I want to go away.’

Alana seemed puzzled.

Abigail paced around the room, feeling uneasy as always. Her voice started cracking when she continued to talk. ‘I... I just want to be happy for a while.’ Tears welled up in her big blue eyes, real ones. She swallowed painfully before continuing. ‘I’m so fed up with being here, with these people, they’re all weird and fucked up and not like me. I want to leave.’

‘Listen Abigail. It’s late and you really need to think before taking such a big step. You are still recovering from trauma and I, as you psychiatrist, think that it’s best if you remain supervised for just a while longer, or until you agree to take your medication and speak up in group therapy.’

‘I AM NEVER TOUCHING THOSE PILLS,’ she almost screamed.

She hung up angrily and rubbed her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt to hold back the tears. It was true. She wanted to be independent, to live on her own. It was not rational to think that of course because there were times she would forget to eat or even get out of bed. It was merely forgetfulness; more depression. She suddenly thought of calling Hannibal. But no. If she kept coming on to him like that maybe he would just think she’s weird. Alana just didn’t understand.

She hadn’t been doing well at all in the past few days. She could feel a panic attack rising in her. She felt sick and cold but hot at the same time. She ripped the floral scarf of her neck, leaving it on the floor. Her breathing started to hitch and her breath felt choked. There were tears streaming down her face, down her neck, on the thick scar. Abigail then paced around the room, shaking her hands, needing to clutch something, but there was nothing. She should have stayed at Hannibal’s for the night. In here, she suffocated, and not long after, screams could be heard from her room. Head banging, crying, stomping and for a while nothing at all. No nurse came. Abigail Hobbs curled herself up in a ball against the wall, scratching her face out of frustration. Everything was just so hard and everything seemed so out of reach. There was nothing, there was no one. The feeling in her stomach was as if she was falling from a very high cliff into a never ending emptiness. She should take the pills, she should take the pills, she should take the pills.

She needs to take the pills.

She can’t hear Alana asking her to take them.

Abigail could feel a warm and rough hand on her shoulder. Had she fallen asleep?

‘Abigail...’ a familiar voice whispered.

It was just a dream. Just a dream, she told herself. She often fell asleep after panic attacks.

She could smell something familiar. A distinct perfume. The scent she loved the most.

‘Abigail. Alana called me. I came to see you. Are you alright?’

Did she look alright?

Her eyes kept shut, but her hand touched his and he helped her up.

 **  
**Maybe there was one person she could trust.


	2. I felt alive

‘Abigail, tell me what’s going on.’

‘No! You tell me why you’re here,’ she snapped, stepping back. Hannibal’s hands then fell to his sides.

‘Alana was at a meeting tonight and she asked me to check on you because you called her. She said you seemed panicked,’ he explained, calmly.

She looked at him, her mouth holding back cries.

‘What happened?’ he gestured her her bed to sit down. He sat at a distance on a chair by her desk.

She obeyed his movement and sat, still looking uncomfortable.

When Abigail was nervous, she wiggled her fingers and rubbed her hands against each other. He knew her habits. ‘I feel trapped.’

‘Where?’ he asked.

She took a deep breath. ‘Here. Everywhere I go.’

‘In this room?’

‘Everywhere! Even in your house. Even outside, when I climb the walls of the hospital.’

He shifted his position. ‘Would anything help? A drive maybe?’

It wouldn’t help and Abigail knew it. But it was worth a try. Maybe it would help her sleep. She remembered going for long road trips with her parents; sometimes they went as far as California, and the movement of the car rocked her to sleep like a little child. Those were the few happy memories she could cherish about her parents. She needed to make new memories, as Alana once said to her. New ones with people she loved. She didn’t even know what it meant anymore. It was a sad, tragic life her father had given her.

Hannibal and Abigail walked to the car. It was around 9:00pm, and it was a little cold for May. Abigail wore long sleeves as always, no scarf, that habit had worn off a while ago and she learned to accept that there would always be a scar there. It had faded quite a bit with vitamin e but it was purple and noticeable none the less.

They drove and Abigail closed her eyes, appreciating this gesture Hannibal was giving her. Every time someone did something unnecessary for her, she was so very grateful.  He didn’t need to do this.

Hannibal, on his side, wanted to help her. He felt no pressure to do this. He knew what it was like to have lost everything. He saw himself in Abigail so much. He as a young boy did not know what to do. He used to be lost and angry, filled with frustrations and nightmares. Lost, so very, very lost. Abigail was the same. He saw her as a prey who could easily become the hunter. An even better hunter than she used to be.

She didn’t fall asleep.

Hannibal arrived in front of his house and stopped. She’d been here this morning.

‘Would you like to stay?’

She looked at her tiny silver men’s watch. It was almost 10:00. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘I am inviting you. Stay as long as you want. I would appreciate the company,’ he told her, getting out of the car.

Inside, he’d offered her a glass of wine and she sat on the floor quietly next to the harpsichord. The pleasant silence was filled with an even more pleasant sound; Hannibal started playing. It took a few moments for Abigail to recognize that it was Aria’s Goldberg Variations. Something classic that she thought Hannibal was playing to make sure she’d know what it was. She knew. It was almost like a lullaby. When he was over, she heard him take a sip of wine, not seeing him, and he spoke up with a gentle voice, almost haunting. Her wineglass was half-empty.

‘Does the murder of Nick Boyle haunt you at night?’

Her eyes shut when he said his name. ‘The feeling of killing haunts me.’

‘Were you afraid when it happened?’

Her knees folded against her chest. ‘I was afraid of the way I felt.’

He frowned. Not being able to see her made him wonder what facial expression she had while talking. ‘Come sit by me,’ he told her.

Slowly, she got up, leaving her wine on the floor. Her body felt heavy and weak, maybe a mixture of sleepiness and wine.

Abigail walked a bit too slowly to the bench and went astride it, keeping a safe distance from Hannibal. She had trouble focusing her eyes on anything. There were so many things around her. The paintings, the harpsichord, the decorations, the flowers, the patterns everywhere, and him. When he was with her he didn’t wear a tie or a jacket. She supposed that he was baring himself for her to realize how similar they were, to show himself like she had been bared on that horrific morning, to Will, to Hannibal. Abigail did not remember what they’d been talking about.

‘Abigail.’

She blinked a few times before looking at his face. He was frowning. ‘Hm?

‘Have you had a dissociative moment?’

‘No! No...’ she shook her head. ‘I don’t know...’ she mumbled. Her hand mechanically went to rub her opposite arm awkwardly.

‘We were discussing you killing Nick Boyle.’

Abigail realized that her position was rather uncomfortable and brought both of her legs to the same side.

‘I killed him...’ she whispered, in the type of whisper she told Hannibal about being the lure.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

She looked away. ‘I said, I killed him. We all know that.’

He admired the way her hair flicked when she spun her head around. So dark and sleek. He yearned to touch it.

Abigail knew what he wanted to know. Tears welled up in her eyes. He could not see them, but he smelled it. He kept the scent of blood and tears in a room of his memory palace. The room was called Abigail.

‘You want to know how I felt. Why I was so... afraid of myself,’ she almost gagged.

‘Tell me.’

She walked away and kneeled on the couch, leaning her chest on the back of it. She looked at Hannibal directly in the eye and her gaze almost saw through him. No one saw through Hannibal Lecter.

‘I felt so alive, Hannibal. I felt like every gap inside of me was filled with something so strong and powerful.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘And I know that I can never feel that way again. The gaps are emptying again and soon I’ll be completely--’

‘Empty,’ he said, darkly. He knew. Exactly. What it was like.

Hannibal came over to sit by her very quickly, and just like the other time, he consoled her by sitting her very close to him, holding her to his arms around her frail shoulders. All that he wanted to do was protect her from everything and everyone but he knew she was stronger than that.

‘You can have it back,’ he murmured next to her ear before kissing her temple.

Abigail shivered at the intimate gesture. ‘Don’t say things like that.’

Tears wet his dark blue shirt as she continued to sob against him. He kissed her hair.

‘We both know what you are capable of. You must assume who you truly are,’ he explained.

She felt his hand travel up and down her spine and her whole body tensed up. She lifted her head up to look at him. One of his hands brushed her cheek and then he kissed it gently.

‘I want to go to bed.’

Her voice was heavy and tired. There was only so much Abigail could take into right now. She admitted to something that to Hannibal was perfectly normal. He was even happy, glad.

_Where are you hiding, Abigail Darling._

_Why are you hiding._

_Don’t hide from me._

_Then I won’t have to either._

Everytime the perverted thought of Abigail’s pearl-like skin splattered in blood showed in his mind he died a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :D Comments are always nice.


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